Captain's (​B)Log

As a self-respecting naval officer I try to avoid politics on this page, but enough is enough. I cannot stand flaccid any longer while this man makes a mockery of a country that doesn’t even exist yet!

I have traveled extensively and kept the secrets of many foreign dignitaries (whose secrets, it turns out, are not so dignified).

I am a devout Christian. Though I have never eaten the body of Christ, during my travels in Latin America I have eaten many men named Jesus.

I firmly believe that it is not the size of the government that counts, it’s how you use it. Slimmer governments, though less impressive to the eye, typically work harder, are more flexible, and are able to go places larger governments can’t. Like Aleppo.

I have never in my life grabbed a female’s pussy. (Full disclosure, I have, on numerous occasions, held a boys’ pussy. Always with consent.)

I’m rich. Really rich. And sweet. I think it’s because I eat a lot of pineapple.

My hands are big enough that I’ve never felt the need to defend their size in a national debate.

And last but not least, I have executive experience, having personally executed countless seamen with my stomach acid. Conversely, I have personally ensured countless seamen reached their intended destinations safely.

If you think François would make a better president than Donald Trump, support his campaign by enlisting, shopping at the Seamen Store, or sharing this post.

​With all the talk lately about grabbing pussies, it made me think about the first chapter in my second book, My Coxswain Is Bigger Than Yours. To be sure, there are no female pussies to be found here, but we do make extensive use of the boys' pussy. Enjoy!

​There’s a Dinghy in Our Rear!

Since my most recent conquest over now-Admiral Cocksmith Standish, the man who seemed to come on and in my poop every time I wasn’t looking, I had been a very busy boy. I had dominated three other enemies, my men bringing them to their knees and making their ships go down on them; I had rescued a confused young frigate captain who was very nearly wrecked on the shores of Cornwall’s Shag Rock; I supported a raid on the German town of Weener, leading a transport flotilla of very hetero army men there and back and devirginizing half of three platoons; and now, I was back on my Raging Queen, taking it home to Stiff, Bretagne, following a weeklong panty raid on the Scilly Isles.

Under normal conditions, the trip could have been made in less than a day, but the wind died almost completely the moment Peninnis Head was out of sight, and we’d been drifting ever since. After several hours of hitching and hoisting and heaving our futtocks, making every attempt to catch any break of wind, the heat got to us. Leading Seaman Ladouche was the first to strip off his shirt, and the pleasure that brought to both him and his several voyeurs led to the latter stripping off theirs. Before we knew it, we were exposing each other’s hindquarters and taking turns flogging one another with a boys’ pussy.

A boys’ pussy, for those unfamiliar with traditional means of naval castigation, is a smaller version of the cat-o’-nine-tails. It was typically used to punish boys, as distinct from men, but since we had no young boys on the Raging Queen (we do have some bounds of propriety after all), ours tended to be used more for recreational purposes such as this one. The cat-o’-nine was strictly for corporal punishment. Or, for one who had attained not so high a rank, private punishment. Or, for one being flogged out of the public eye, also private punishment. Or, for one being flogged in his nether regions, privates punishment. Or, for contracted sailors commissioned by the government who just wanted a little fun time, privateer punishment.

Alright, we might just as easily have used the cat-o’-nine in a circumstance like this, but at the moment we hadn’t yet pulled it out, and we were flogging each other with a boys’ pussy, rolling dice to determine which body part would bear the punishment, and for how many lashes. One of our spanks (what we call our newest seamen, when they first come out of cadet school) had just rolled double-sixes and presented us his long john as the appropriate response, when someone called--